Connections
by Late October
Summary: After Mr. Spock's disastrous wedding, he begins feeling ill. He is shocked to discover that the pon farr has found another way to achieve its biological imperative. Meanwhile, a dangerous Romulan weapon threatens Earth's solar system. MPREG, NO SLASH
1. Chapter 1

Prologue

Stardate 3497.2, Capella IV

The afternoon was hot, bright, and deceptively serene. A deep blue sky dotted with white clouds stretched over the pastoral mountainside landscape. The distant scream of a bird echoed off the massive, sun baked rocks. The only other sounds were the rustling of leaves and the beating of hearts as Captain James T. Kirk and First Officer Mr. Spock crouched tensely near a cave within the rocky outcropping.

Beside them lay a small pile of handmade arrows and sharpened sticks. Mr. Spock made the final adjustments on a crude handmade bow and tested the string's tautness. He hoped that he and his Captain would not need to use many, if any, of their makeshift weapons stock. Peaceful by nature, Vulcans disliked violence. However, if need be Mr. Spock was willing and able to defend Jim and himself against the rebellious faction of Capellans and their furtive Klingon ally.

Captain Kirk rose and began pacing back and forth. "Things have been pretty quiet for a while now," he said, gesturing towards the adjacent cave. "Do you think everything's all right?"

"The doctor is an able physician," Spock replied. "He will perform as well as he is able to do so under these circumstances."

As if on cue, a high pitched wail broke through the still air. Several minutes later, Dr. Leonard McCoy emerged from the dark cave, mopping his brow with a handkerchief. He smiled broadly at his two friends and gestured for them to follow him into the entrance.

The inside of the cave was cool, moist, and dim. The rushing water of a small stream echoed from the rear of the cave. It was the cold water from this little mountain stream that provided the first short bath for Elissa's newborn son, Capella IV's newest Teer.

Elissa, the widow of the late Teer Akaar, lay resting against some mossy rocks by the cave wall; her infant son, blanketed in the black lining torn from his mother's cloak, lay next to her. McCoy leaned over Elissa and gently lifted the tiny child in his arms.

"Look," McCoy said softly, as he rose to show his friends the newborn. Kirk peered into the small bundle. The Capellans were humanoid, and indeed outwardly resembled humans so much that the baby looked no different than an infant of his own species. The child was fat, red, and wrinkled. His little hands were balled into fists, and he was very sleepy. Jim smiled. "He's beautiful, doctor."

McCoy approached Spock, suddenly handing him the bundle. Spock automatically thrust out his hands, clasping the infant in an awkward, unsteady position. The baby writhed and whimpered as his unsupported head rolled backwards. He flung out his little arms and began to cry. Spock stared at the baby with a mixture of curiosity, surprise, and panic. He felt an immediate aversion to the child, to this noisy little creature that seemed ugly and vulnerable and fragile. Spock was instantly uncomfortable. He didn't know why he felt so uneasy, but he did know that he wanted this baby out of his arms _now._

"Now, Mr. Spock," Dr. McCoy chided. "That's no way to hold a baby. You put your . . ."

"I would rather not, doctor," he replied stiffly, quickly handing the infant back to McCoy.

McCoy smiled, accepting the bundle. He gently cradled the infant in his arms, and the crying stopped. "Not the maternal sort, huh Spock?"

"Indeed not," he replied. "And furthermore I see no logic in the human custom of non-caretakers passing around the infants of others. It seems neither safe nor desirable."

"Well, Mr. Spock," countered the doctor, "most normal _red-blooded _people actually like babies."

"Doctor, I neither 'like' nor 'dislike' children. Obviously, they are a logical necessity. I simply find no purpose in superfluous interaction with them."

McCoy rolled his eyes playfully. He was too pleased with his first successful delivery of a Capellan infant, particularly in such a rustic environment, to get annoyed with his colleague. "If you say so, Spock," he answered, handing the child back to his mother.

At the sound of distant voices, the trio exited the cave. "They're coming," observed Kirk. "And we've got to be ready to meet them. Mr. Spock, come along with me. We'll ambush them from those nearby rock faces."

"I'm coming with you," insisted McCoy.

"Doctor," replied the Captain. "You took a medical oath. And right now your responsibility is to that tiny patient in there. He needs you. Don't worry; we'll take care of the Capellans, and that Klingon snake."

As the two left the cave to defend their position, Spock's mind snapped back into focus. Now he was back in his element. He and the Captain would fend off their enemies, restore order on Capella, and then continue the mining treaty negotiations. Although this situation with the Capellan rebel faction and their Klingon ally was not anticipated, and neither of them really knew what to expect, they both did know that with teamwork they could complete the mission to the best of their abilities. Like he had done in the past, Spock would approach the current danger with strength, logic, and decisive action. As a Vulcan, Spock was virtually immune to hubris. But if he wasn't, he would take pride in knowing that he was a rational man, and that his Spartan discipline and flawless logic would guide him through any conflict that the world (or outer space, for that matter) could throw at him.


	2. Chapter 2

Stardate 3908.8

Spock awoke abruptly in a cold sweat. He was breathing hard, and he felt confused and alarmed. Something strange and unusual had just occurred. He had been dreaming.

He rarely dreamed at all, and when he did, his dreams were calm and logical. His nightly meditations saw to that. But lately he was dreaming often, and these dreams were irrational, vivid, and disturbing. This last dream provoked an illogical sense of unease and discomfort.

In his dream, he was standing in his mother's garden at his parent's house on Vulcan. It was early in the day, and bright golden sunlight poured over the horizon. The air was very clear and dry and had the exquisite freshness and inspiring sense of potential about it that only morning could bring.

His mother was there, kneeling in the silt, cutting flowers. She was a young woman again. She was clad in a pale blue loose fitting robe. He winced to see her smiling warmly at him.

She rose and walked towards him, placing her hand on his shoulder. "I feel so happy, so proud," she said lovingly. "I couldn't wait to meet you, and here you are. I know that your father is very pleased too, in his own way. Soon you will understand."

The sky was suddenly dark, and she was gone. He shivered as the air turned cold. He began to go inside the house, but for some reason he was having trouble walking. His legs seemed heavy and uncooperative, as if he was gradually losing the ability to command them. No matter how many steps he took, the entrance seemed just as far away. _I cannot rest,_ he thought frantically. _I must get inside. There's a storm coming._ The more he struggled, the harder the walk seemed. Finally, he couldn't move at all.

The scene gradually dissolved away. Now he was on Mount Seleya at midday. The air was hot, dry, and thin. Orange sunlight beat down mercilessly from the red sky above. His clan leader T'pau stood on a ledge overhead, dressed in full ceremonial garb. She glared down from overhead with a ruthless, cold expression.

"I know how happy you were to see your friend alive," she stated in a dispassionate monotone. "That was a small failure on your part. Soon you will face greater challenges. May you meet them with greater success." She suddenly vanished, as if punishing his lack of emotional control by denying her presence. Spock felt weak and helpless. The rocky ground trembled beneath his feet. The ledge began to crumble, and he felt himself falling . . . .

And then he awoke, terrified. He took deep breaths to calm himself immediately. He briefly felt shame for his fear. _I am centered, I am controlled_, he thought. And soon he was.

Spock put the dream out of his thoughts. It was not productive to dwell on the incoherent ramblings of the unconscious mind, particularly when he was not even supposed to be having dreams. Sleep should be dreamless in order to be completely restful. Otherwise, there is no logic in it.

He rose to prepare for the day. He was briefly surprised to see the time: 0700 hours. He didn't usually sleep so late. This was especially odd since he had been sleeping so much lately. The strange dreams must be accounting for this necessity. Extra meditation before bed seemed in order.

Spock did his morning stretches, showered, shaved, trimmed his nails, and dressed for his shift. He usually met Jim in the mess hall at 0720 for breakfast, but this morning he was not hungry. In fact, the very thought of plomeek made his stomach churn. Instead, he lit two candles and meditated on the floor until 0755. This left him exactly enough time to arrive at the bridge at 0800 hours.

When Spock arrived at the bridge, all the other beta shift crewmembers were already there. He exchanged the customary curt 'Good Mornings' and then sat down at his science station to work. The Enterprise was currently on a star charting mission. The Federation kept up-to-date, detailed records on all the stars in its territory. Although star charting sometimes involved studying new stars, it also involved monitoring the conditions of currently known stars. Any change, no matter how minute, in position, composition, temperature, or size was important to know. If Federation scientists had all the data about these stars, then it was easier to predict how they may affect the space and planets around them.

This work involved taking scientific readings, making measurements, and calculating figures. As Science Officer, Spock headed the entire star charting project. He did not take this job, or any other work, for that matter, lightly.

This work continued serenely and efficiently for several days. The Enterprise had run into no trouble, nor had they discovered any stellar changes or anomalies.

Mr. Spock was actually puzzled by the lack of any kind of spatial anomaly. Sometimes inconsistencies in space - irregularities in gravity, space ripples, or alterations in the laws of Physics - caused visible physical symptoms within space-faring Starfleet officers. As far as he knew, the other members of the crew were fine, and Sickbay had reported no unusual health issues within the crew. However, the Vulcan was experiencing a number of unexplained symptoms: he was still having vivid dreams, he was frequently fatigued, and he was often plagued with indigestion. But worst of all, his emotional control was faltering. He sometimes felt severely depressed for no reason whatsoever, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to refrain from snapping at incompetent crewmembers. He was meditating for four hours every day now in a concentrated effort to cure his unusual symptoms; if things didn't improve soon, he was afraid he might have to do the unthinkable and visit Dr. McCoy.

Beta shift thankfully came to an end, and Spock quickly logged off his computer at precisely 1600 hours. As he walked to the turbolift, the Captain turned and spoke to him.

"Spock, where are you off to?"

"I am returning to my quarters, Captain."

"How about meeting me and Dr. McCoy in Recreation Deck 2 instead? We're going to play a few rounds of Parisses Squares before dinner."

"No, thank you sir. I must return to my quarters to rest."

"Oh. Well, okay. If you change your mind, you know where to find us." Jim rose and straightened his green command shirt. "I guess I'll see you at dinner, then."

Spock paused. "Perhaps, Captain. I may choose to dine in my quarters again." Then he turned and left the bridge.

Jim frowned and crossed his arms. Why was Spock avoiding him? Lately, all he'd done was work and hide in his rooms. He was never at breakfast anymore, and sometimes he took his other meals in his room too. The two of them hadn't played a game of three-dimensional chess in weeks, and his friend was also conspicuously absent from the recreation rooms. Jim was starting to get concerned. He didn't know how to approach Spock about this; the Vulcan was always so private and reserved. He hoped that whatever was wrong resolved itself soon. He was really starting to miss his best friend.


	3. Chapter 3

Spock entered his quarters at precisely 1605 hours. He sat down exhausted at his computer and fixed himself a cup of herb root tea. He sat there quietly for several minutes, sipping the scalding liquid and simply enjoying the quiet warmth of his room. Suddenly, his computer beeped, indicating an incoming message. It was his mother.

Spock switched on the display.

Amanda's handsome face appeared on the viewscreen. Today she wore her silver hair down over her shoulders, and she was wearing a pale blue silk dress. Her lips were curved into the warm almost-a-smile that she often wore around her Vulcan husband and son.

"Greetings, Mother."

"Hello, Spock. How are you?"

"Well enough, Mother. What is the reason for your call?"

"Oh, Spock. Not everything has to have a reason. I just wanted to see your face and make sure you were doing all right. It was so nice to see you last month, and I was hoping that we could see more of each other in the future."

"Very well, Mother. If you wish."

"How is your work coming along?"

"Well. We are currently charting stars, and the work is proceeding efficiently."

"Well, that's nice. I've been keeping busy too. I've been volunteering at the Vulcan Junior Science Academy, and I've planted several new flowers in my garden. I hope the next time you have shore leave you will come and see them. Your father and I went to a concert last night, and although it went on for quite a while, it was still enjoyable."

"How is Father?"

"He is very well. He asked me to send his greetings." She paused, and a shadow crossed her face. "Actually, Spock, there is a reason for my call."

"And what is that?"

"Your father and I know about what happened the last time you visited Vulcan. We're very sorry for the way things turned out. When we arranged the betrothal, we had your best interests at heart. To be frank, we're concerned about your health as a result of that experience. Sometimes there are . . . side effects associated with avoiding coupling during . . . the appropriate time."

Spock was instantly offended. _Why_ was she talking to him about this? It was none of her business. _Pon farr_ was the last thing he wanted to think about. At the same time, he knew that there was value in what she said. As much as he tried to push his recent odd symptoms from his mind, he couldn't deny the fact to himself that something was wrong. The thought that the _pon farr_, that humiliating experience that he had considered resolved and forgotten, was causing unexpected complications, was a very disturbing thought.

"Spock, honey, I know you don't like talking about this, but I am worried about you. You really don't look well."

"What do you mean?" he retorted sharply.

"Well . . . you look pale. Are you eating enough? Are you getting enough sleep?"

Spock paused. "I always eat sufficiently. And as for sleep, I have done little else."

"Spock, darling, maybe you need to start taking a copper supplement. I make your Father take one every morning. You seem anemic. Don't you think you should go see your ship's doctor, just to make sure everything's okay?"

"Mother, I am _not_ ill." He was becoming irritable. He was 38 years old, and his mother insisted on treating him like a child.

Amanda sighed and looked down momentarily. She looked slightly taken aback. "Please take care of yourself, son." She tucked a strand of gray hair behind her ear, and then placed her hands on her knee resolutely. "Now, if you . . . have any questions, or just want to talk, you know where to find me."

"Questions, Mother?" He arched an eyebrow.

"Spock, I can see that you're tired. Why don't I let you go so you can lie down for a bit."

Spock narrowed his eyes, becoming more irritable by the second. "Very well, Mother," he replied tensely. "Thank you for your call." And he cut the transmission without waiting for her reply.

Spock took a deep breath and let out a frustrated sigh. Dealing with his mother could be so annoying at times. He missed her so much, but then whenever she called she almost always had a way of provoking an emotional response. It made him angry, which was in itself emotional and therefore made things doubly worse. He sat down on the bed and began to take off his shoes.

Even such a simple act as pulling off his boots did not come easily today. For some reason or another, his ankles seemed to be swollen.


	4. Chapter 4

The following Tuesday, at 1400 hours, Spock's sensors picked up something unusual. It seemed to be some sort of gaseous cloud, composed from both natural and artificial elements. The sensors had never picked up anything like this before; it seemed to be an entirely new phenomenon. Its precise structure was impossible to analyze. It did not seem threatening or destructive; however, because it had emerged from the direction of Romulan space, there was every reason to remain cautious.

"Captain," he said. "Sensors are detecting an unusual cloud of low density mass. It is mobile and is traveling at a steady speed of .09 parsecs per hour."

"What is this cloud made of?"

"Unknown, Captain. I am detecting certain natural elements and many that appear artificially created. The composition does not read as toxic nor does the mass appear to be attracted to our vessel."

"Speculation, Mr. Spock?"

"This is clearly not a natural phenomenon. It is likely . . . the byproduct of some type of machine: a new type of spacecraft, or even possibly fallout from an . . . exploded satellite . . . " Mr. Spock trailed off. His head was swimming. Why did he feel so weak? It was suddenly difficult to breathe; were the environmental controls malfunctioning? He took a deep, labored breath and became aware that he was slowly and helplessly losing his balance.

"Mr. Spock, is that all . . . ?" The Captain turned around and saw his First Officer clenching the console with his eyes tightly shut. His face was white and he was trembling.

"Mr. Spock!" he cried out just as the Vulcan collapsed onto the floor.

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

Slowly, gradually he became aware of soft noises all around him: footsteps, voices, mechanical beeps and whirring sounds. He opened his eyes, wincing from the bright Sickbay lights.

Dr. McCoy was leaning over him, running a medical scanner over his body.

"Well," said the doctor, "How are you feeling?"

Spock shifted uncomfortably on the bio-bed. "Very nauseous," he replied quietly.

"Well, gee, thanks. It's nice to see you too," McCoy muttered. "Speaking of which, I haven't seen you much at all lately. Neither has Jim, nor anyone else. Mind telling what's going on with you?"

"I . . . what happened? How long was I . . ."

"You fainted on the bridge is what happened. You've been unconscious for about ten minutes."

Spock sat up gingerly; he winced and clutched his forehead in pain.

"Whoa, careful there. You took a nasty hit on the head when you fell. And you didn't answer my question. What's wrong with you, Spock? You're hardly eating and you stay in your quarters all the time. You're irritable – and don't tell me I'm wrong, because we both know I'm right. You're acting a bit like . . . well, you know . . . that little _incident _a few months ago?"

"Doctor, that is not an appropriate topic for discussion," Spock snapped. "And if you're asking whether or not I am experiencing it again, the answer is _no_."

McCoy raised his eyebrows. "Okay, okay. If you say so. I'm just saying, you seem hormonal."

Spock was silent for a few moments. "Doctor," he began cautiously. "I do not know what is wrong. I have never before experienced these exact symptoms in conjunction. Not even during the . . . _pon farr_."

"What are these symptoms, Spock?" asked McCoy gently.

"I am . . . exhausted. I sleep most of the time. I am plagued with strange dreams. My stomach is constantly unsettled. I am having significant difficulty . . . controlling my emotions." He lowered his eyes in shame.

"Well," McCoy said. "I don't know what's wrong with you either. According to my scans, you _should_ be healthy. There's no sign of a virus, fever, or infection, and there are no brain injuries. You're slightly anemic, but that shouldn't account for all your problems. I'd like to keep you here overnight for observation. Besides, you could use the rest. I'm going to go ahead and put some fluids and some vitamins in you, and I also want to take a blood sample."

Spock nodded, too weak and disoriented to protest. He rolled up his sleeve and allowed the doctor to dab the crook of his arm with alcohol; a moment later he felt the sharp sting of a hypodermic. He watched dispassionately as the syringe filled with deep green blood.

After changing into the light blue Sickbay pajamas, Spock lay himself back down on the bio-bed. He was still very sleepy. McCoy fooled with some of the equipment and then inserted the IV into his vein. The last thing he remembered before drifting off to sleep was Nurse Chapel covering him with a silver thermal blanket.


	5. Chapter 5

Spock was dreaming again. He was sitting in his childhood bedroom. His pet sehlat, I-Chaya, was curled up on his lap, asleep. I-Chaya had been very old and died when Spock was only seven; except, here, in his dream, his pet was just a cub. A very small cub. Suddenly he was in his quarters on the Enterprise. He was immediately embarrassed. What was he doing with a sehlat cub on a starship? Surely this was against regulations? What if his father found out? The tiny cub woke up and started mewling. Spock rubbed and petted the small animal, but the crying continued. "I-Chaya, I don't have any food for you!" he chided. "You're not even supposed to _be _here."

The scene gradually faded away. The animal's cries soon morphed into shorter beeps, and Spock awoke, realizing that he was hearing some piece of medical equipment.

He lifted the covers and rose from the bed, stretching. He felt much better. Not only physically, but mentally as well: calmer, more relaxed. Perhaps the extra fluids were a good idea.

McCoy entered the room. "Ah, you're awake. Good."

"What time is it?"

"About 1730 hours. You slept all afternoon. You hungry?"

"Yes," replied Spock. The Sickbay doors swooshed open, and in walked Jim Kirk.

"Spock! How are you feeling?"

"Quite well, Captain."

"Glad to hear it. Mind if I join you?"

"Please do," replied Spock, gesturing towards the empty chair beside the bio-bed. Nurse Chapel approached from the other side. She pulled up the bed's side table and extended it over Spock's lap. On the surface she set down a tray laden with plomeek broth, cucumber sandwiches, and fruit salad. Spock began eating enthusiastically.

"Well," said Kirk. "Glad to see your appetite's in good working order. I've been kind of worried about you lately. You always skip breakfast, and I . . . well, I kind of miss having dinner together."

"I do not _always_ skip breakfast," Spock corrected, his mouth full of pineapple. "I have simply not been hungry in the mornings. It is not logical to eat when one is not hungry."

Kirk shrugged. "I guess not. But it doesn't seem logical to skip meals, either."

Spock raised an eyebrow.

"Listen, Spock," said Kirk quietly. "I know something's wrong. Can't you tell me what it is?"

"I cannot tell you what I do not know," replied Spock. "I seem to be suffering from some unknown or unidentified condition. Dr. McCoy ran blood work. I am certain that he will have the results soon."

"But do you have any idea . . . whoa, slow down Spock," said Kirk, noticing how fast the Vulcan was eating. "You're going to make yourself sick."

"I am quite hungry," replied Spock with his mouth full. He took a long drink from his teacup. He set the empty cup down on the tray next to the other empty dishes. "Miss Chapel," he called, "my body seems to require additional energy this evening. Might I have some more sandwiches?"

"Of _course_, Mr. Spock," answered Christine sweetly, hurrying off for more food.

Jim talked to his friend for a couple hours more, during which Spock continued to drink tea and nibble at his food. Soon, he grew tired, and Jim thought it best to leave him to rest.

Jim returned to his quarters. He did some paperwork, read for a while, and did whatever else he could think of to keep his mind off Spock. His first officer and friend was unexplainably ill, and as much as he wished otherwise, he knew that even Vulcans weren't indestructible. Just as he was about to prepare for bed, his intercom beeped. It was McCoy.

"Kirk here."

"Jim, you've got to get down to Sickbay. It's about Spock."

Jim frowned. "On my way."

Jim practically ran to Sickbay. He felt sick with worry. _Please don't let it be something serious_, he thought to himself as he quickly entered the Sickbay.

The hour was late, and the rooms were darkened. Jim mentally prepared himself for the worst as he entered McCoy's office.

McCoy sat behind his desk with his hands folded tightly. He looked haggard and a little pale. Jim winced. This did not bode well for his alien friend.

"Bones," he began immediately. "I can tell from your behavior that whatever is wrong with Spock is serious." He leaned forward anxiously. "I want you to tell me everything you know, even if you think it might be hard for me to hear."

The doctor had a strange look on his face. He took a deep breath.

"Jim, this may be hard for you to hear, but not for the reason you're thinking of."

Jim was confused. "What do you mean?"

"Believe it or not, Spock isn't sick. Actually, he's quite healthy for someone in his condition."

Jim frowned and crossed his arms. "He hasn't exactly looked the perfect picture of health, lately."

Bones bit his lip nervously and shifted in his chair. "Jim," he continued. "What I'm going to tell you now is going to sound crazy, but just try to be open minded. Remember, we're not dealing with humans here. I've been on subspace communication all evening with different Vulcan doctors. Once they saw Spock's blood test results, they suddenly became very reluctant to talk to me. They wanted me to send Spock back to Vulcan for 'further medical attention,' as they put it. But I wasn't giving up that easily. I told them that Enterprise wasn't giving up its first officer, and I demanded that they share their insights with me. Once they realized I couldn't be persuaded to send Spock back to his planet, they agreed to enlighten me. I talked to three different specialists, and they all had the same answer."

"What answer?"

"Jim, apparently there's still a lot we don't know about Vulcans, particularly how Vulcans reproduce and the effect that going through the _pon farr_ can have on the body. As it turns out, the unchecked blood fever can lead something other than death. Vulcans are genetically programmed to reproduce every seven years. If that sexual urge is placated in a non sexual way, such as combat or meditation, the body sometimes compensates for that outcome with another development."

"Bones, I appreciate all the detail, but will you please just tell me what's wrong with my first officer?"

Dr. McCoy took a deep breath.

"Jim," he said tentatively, "Spock is pregnant."


	6. Chapter 6

Jim stared at the doctor, completely speechless. "Bones," he began, raising an eyebrow, "you're screwing with me. It's not funny. I want to know what's wrong with Spock."

McCoy threw up his hands in frustration. "I _told_ you to be open minded," he said gruffly. "Jim, I'm not kidding around here. Spock is pregnant. He's actually about eight weeks along. I was just as surprised as you are now when I found out. The first thing I thought was 'Spock is a man. How in hell can _a man_ be pregnant?' Apparently, Vulcans have evolutionary adaptations to ensure the survival of the species, even if mating is prevented. It's a form of parthenogenesis; a partner isn't required. His body simply impregnated itself."

Jim swallowed hard and sat down. He was shocked. His first officer, pregnant? That was the very _last_ thing he'd expected to hear from Bones.

"Okay. I understand why it happened, but _how_ did it happen?" asked Jim.

"This is what the Vulcan doctors explained to me," began the doctor. "Copulation produces a brain chemical that instantly resolves the blood fever. The other options for dealing with the _pon farr_, combat or meditation, produce a similar chemical: similar, but not identical. This chemical takes care of the lethal symptoms, but the body somehow still knows that reproduction did not take place. So, sometimes, depending on a Vulcan's genes and body chemistry, this particular chemical stimulates the pituitary gland to secrete massive amounts of female hormones. These hormones actually cause the body to alter its anatomy and to break down DNA to create a viable embryo."

"So, his body grew a uterus?"

Bones nodded. "And soon it will develop a . . . vaginal canal."

Jim winced. He didn't want to think too hard about that.

"How long is the gestational period?"

"Twenty-six to twenty-eight weeks: between six and seven months. Spock's almost finished with the first trimester."

"How did Spock react to all of this?"

"Well, when I told him, he just sat there in bed for a couple of minutes before saying anything. Of course, he didn't _show_ how he felt about it, but I don't think he's too thrilled."

"So, he was surprised? I mean, he didn't know this could happen?"

"No. He was completely ignorant. I imagine he's pretty shocked, although it's hard to tell with him. He mentioned that 'everything made sense now.' He asked me several questions, a lot of what I just told you, and then he asked to return to his quarters. I think he wanted to be alone."

"Is he going to be okay?"

McCoy took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. "The pregnancy is taking a lot out of him. His body is reeling from massive floods of hormones, and that's what's causing his physical and mental symptoms. He needs a lot of rest, preferably stress-free rest."

"These symptoms: are they going to get any worse? Can you treat them?"

"No, and yes. The early part of the pregnancy is typically the worst, especially for Vulcan males. It's a big strain for their bodies to adjust to the developing fetus. Once their physiologies adapt to the hormonal changes and the initial physical developments, the sickness eases off. And yes, I can treat his remaining symptoms. I've prescribed him prenatal vitamins, an anti-nausea pill, and a mild sleeping pill. For the meantime, I would recommend putting him on limited duty. He's going to be fine, he's just . . . well, he's just in a 'delicate condition' right now."

Jim leaned back in his chair and ran his fingers through his hair. This was crazy. His very _male_ first officer and best friend was going to have a baby. Good lord! What must have Spock felt when Dr. MCoy gave him the news? Jim was having a hard time believing it himself. A baby on a starship? And how would the crew react to a pregnant senior bridge officer? A pregnant _male_ senior officer? He shook his head.

It looked like things were about to get complicated.


	7. Chapter 7

3 months later

"Captain, I'm waiting for your report."

"We've got a problem here, Admiral," announced Captain Belle of the Federation science vessel _Silver Arrow. _

Her voice crackled with the annoying static of subspace interference. Admiral Martinez leaned forward in her chair and adjusted the dials. She needed to hear her officer's report clearly, especially if there was trouble – this business about clouds emerging from Romulan space had Starfleet on tenterhooks. The poor reception itself troubled her: _Silver Arrow_ was not far enough away to transmit messages so poorly, and there were no ion storms in the area.

"Please continue, Captain."

"As you know, Sir, our studies have shown the gaseous anomaly reported by _Enterprise_ on star date 3979.4 to be mostly inert – at least until now. Unknown compounds are forming within the cloud, causing massive systems failures in our main computers. What's worse, the cloud has suddenly sped up, as if in response to our interaction with it. The cloud responds to all attempts to redirect its trajectory with deadly electromagnetic discharges. Our ship has sustained damage, and we've lost four people already due to circuit overloads caused by the cloud's electromagnetic charges. We now have reason to believe that this is a weapon."

Admiral Martinez pursed her lips and folded her hands tightly. The Romulans had been quiet for some time now; was this mysterious vapor the consequence of that prolonged silence?

"I assume this phenomenon is interfering with communications?"

"Yes, Sir," came the broken reply.

"Captain, I want you to stay on course with this cloud. Continue analysis. If you cannot deflect its course, we may want you to attempt to destroy it. Please proceed with care and take all safety precautions. I want you to transmit all scientific data to Starfleet Command immediately. I'll meet with the other Admirals and get back to you as soon as possible."

"Yes, Sir. Captain Belle out."

Within days, the cloud had drastically sped up, aggressively billowing towards Earth and disrupting subspace communications all along the way. Starfleet Command gave the order to destroy the body. Before, Starfleet was not completely sure it the cloud was intentionally a weapon, but after the _Silver Arrow_'s latest attempt to halt the menace, they were totally convinced of the Romulans' malcontent.

The science vessel had deposited an explosive buoy in the path of the anomaly. However, instead of destroying the rampaging vapor, which all tests indicated would happen, the energy from the detonated explosive rebounded through space towards the starship. Within seconds of detonation, there was nothing left of _Silver Arrow._

The mysterious cloud continued on its path, completely unharmed.


	8. Chapter 8

Spock stood shirtless in front of his mirror. He placed his hand on the swell of his rapidly expanding belly. For some time after McCoy gave him the news, he remained as slender as ever. However, at five months his pregnancy was becoming all too noticeable.

After his unexpected diagnosis of several weeks ago, Spock had gone back to his rooms to think. He needed the peaceful, quiet warmth of his own quarters, away from the doctor and Sickbay's bright fluorescent lights.

He was pregnant. The doctor had showed him all of the test results, all of the scans, and he'd even performed an ultrasound. There was no doubt. On one hand, Spock was pleased that he was not seriously ill. On the other hand, he felt deeply unsettled. Never had he suspected that this was even possible. As he went over the facts, his mind kept protesting the illogic of the situation; yet, after considering all of the biological details, he couldn't deny that his condition was in fact logical. Why would a body capable of inflicting the ravages of _pon farr_ not also be capable of taking charge of its own reproduction in such a drastic way? No, it wasn't the supposed illogic of the situation that troubled Spock: it was his own emotional reaction that caused his discomfort.

Feelings were attacking him from every angle. To begin with, his unbalanced hormones were adversely affecting his emotional control; this faltering was disturbing enough in itself. On top of that, a number of emotions were disrupting the ordinarily peaceful domain of his mind: there was panic and surprise; a weak anger that withered quickly into a strange mixture of awkward fear and vulnerability; and a seething sense of betrayal. All his life, he'd tried so hard to be the perfect Vulcan: his self-discipline was flawless, his scientific achievements were extraordinary, and his professional career was commendable. He'd always taken perfect care of his physical and mental health. And this was his reward? This was how his biological heritage repaid him? He felt terrible, he was tired all the time, and he was an emotional wreck.

An emotional wreck who was going to be a father.

Spock was not partial to children. He didn't really dislike them, but neither did he have any interest whatsoever in parenting. He never seriously considered the possibility. He'd assumed that if his union with T'pring resulted in any children that she would care for them. He was a Starfleet officer, after all, and it would be more logical for any offspring they may have to remain on their home planet, with their mother and grandparents. Moreover, Spock felt completely unqualified to serve such a role. He didn't know the first thing about child care. As a scientist, he was accustomed to solving complex mathematical equations and conducting experiments, not to changing diapers and bottle feeding. And now he was going to carry a baby to term, deliver the child, and assume responsibility for its well-being? Its growth, development, and education? The prospect was disturbing and overwhelming.

His mother had been thrilled at the prospect of becoming a grandmother. Indeed, she had suspected (and hoped for) this outcome ever since his disastrous aborted marriage. His father seemed satisfied as well. This was fortunate, considering that the two of them would likely care for the child most of the time.

But as for himself, he never would have chosen this. He couldn't imagine himself with a child. And he didn't want to.

The door chimed and brought him out of his thoughts. "Enter," he called, pulling his tunic down over his distended belly. It was the captain.

Jim entered. Luckily, he (and the rest of the crew) was now used to his friend's condition; the shock value had worn off. There was no more nervousness or awkwardness between the two men. This relaxed state of affairs particularly benefitted Spock – who was sensitive to the emotional discomfort of others – as there were less agitated emotions to shield. To be scrutinized, to be singled by all as they passed by in the corridors, was both distracting and uncomfortable. Although it shouldn't matter one way or another what his human coworkers thought of him, all the staring and whispering had made Spock self-conscious. He would be glad when the baby was finally born and his emotional control returned to normal.

"So . . . how are you doing?" asked Jim casually.

"I am reasonably well, sir."

"Reasonably?"

"I feel better than I did several weeks ago, but my condition remains uncomfortable. Today I am experiencing lower back pain and some mild abdominal cramps."

"Can't McCoy give you something?"

"It would be neither prudent nor productive to treat every minor symptom. Too much medication could adversely affect the fetus. Also, it is not necessary. A heating pad takes care of most of the . . . ." He stopped abruptly, quickly raising his hands to his stomach.

"Spock? Everything okay?" asked Jim anxiously.

Spock had a strange distant look on his face, as if he were calculating a complex equation in his head. "Yes," he replied, rubbing the stretched blue cloth. "The fetus has just abruptly extended his left leg, I believe."

"You mean it kicked?"

"I believe I just said that, Jim."

"Is this the first time?"

Spock nodded. "Yes. The doctor told me to expect movement at this time, and this is the first instance of which I am aware."

"You said 'his.' Are you having a boy?"

"I do not know. McCoy has pestered me on a number of occasions as to whether or not I would like to know the sex, but knowing that beforehand is not important to me."

"Admit it, Spock: you just want to be surprised," teased Jim.

Spock raised his eyebrows and said nothing.

"Well?"

"With all due respect, Captain. Some comments deserve no response."

Jim laughed. "Okay, okay. In that case, we'd better get to the briefing room. I'm holding a senior staff meeting in five minutes. Starfleet has an important mission for her flagship, and it's urgent."


	9. Chapter 9

"Okay," said Kirk as he sat down at the long briefing room table. Mr. Spock, Uhura, Scotty, Chekhov, and McCoy were gathered around.

"Here's what we know about the problem. Starfleet Command has reported a dangerous gaseous anomaly headed directly for Earth. It's actually the same anomaly we encountered some months ago, but now it's posing a significant threat. Designed to initially appear as a harmless natural phenomenon, the cloud is actually a highly sophisticated weapon devised by the Romulans." He brought up a diagram on the computer viewscreen. "The weapon consists of artificially-constructed particles that feed on G2 electromagnetic energy – the same kind of energy radiated by Earth's sun. The body is both highly maneuverable and extremely dense. If we allow it to reach Sol, it will expand until it completely covers the sun's surface. It will feed on the life-giving energy our sun radiates permanently, meaning disaster for Earth and the entire solar system.

"Our mission is to neutralize this threat. It won't be easy. Phasers and photon torpedoes have no effect. A Federation science vessel has already been destroyed attempting to stop the cloud. They detonated an anti-matter explosive in the cloud's path, and the energy rebounded. So, it's up to us to think of a new plan _fast_ because it's speeding up by the hour.

"I'm transmitting all our data to your individual consoles right now – any ideas? Comments?

"Has anyone tried to communicate with it?" asked Uhura. "Artificial or not, there's the possibility of sentience. Even so, perhaps we could uncover the system originally used to program the anomaly. If we know how the Romulans encoded the weapon with its mission, maybe we could command it to stop, or to self-destruct."

"That's a good point, Lieutenant," said Kirk. "But that will take time, and time is something we do not have."

"Perhaps we could create a weapon to contain the anomaly," piped up Chekhov.

"Explain."

"Vell, the previous attempt to destroy ze cloud resulted in a power surge that backfired on the energy source. If we could create a sort of shield, or containment field that would evenly and simultaneously surround the weapon, then it would have no opening to attack from. If the cloud attempts to release an energy ray, that ray will bounce off the anti-matter shield and rebound on itself. And if the weapon doesn't fire on itself, the shield will eventually consume the gas, also eliminating the threat. Either vay, ve vin."

"That could work," considered Kirk. "Spock: any suggestions?"

"The Ensign's plan shows promise," commented the Vulcan. "But it will require a number of highly complex astrometric calculations. As you have already pointed out, Captain, we have little time. If Mr. Scott and all available science officers assist us, we should finish in time."

"Great!" said Kirk. He stood up abruptly. "Assemble a team and get to work straight away. I'll be on the bridge expecting regular updates. Meeting adjourned!"

The science team got to work immediately. It wasn't long before they had a set of working equations to construct the anti-matter shield enclosure. As soon as Starfleet Command gave their approval, _Enterprise_ launched her defense.

The anti-matter missile blasted forth from _Enterprise_'s cannons at light speed, leaving a trail of glittering photons in its wake. Just before impacting with the malevolent cloud, the missile exploded into millions of self-directed anti-matter pods, each of which flew to its assigned location in the forming shield. As soon as the last pod fell into place, the tiny projectiles exploded into powerful clouds of orange anti-matter dust. The anomaly was completely surrounded.

"It's vorking!" cried Chekhov happily as the anti-matter web began to evenly constrict the anomaly into a dense, red mass.

"Sensors indicate that the anomaly's outer layer of particles is disintegrating," commented Spock from the science station.

"Excellent!" said the captain. "Continue monitoring. Hopefully we'll be able to . . ." A thunderous shockwave suddenly rattled the bridge.

"Report!"

"Captain, the anomaly's remaining particles are adapting," noted Spock. "They are now emitting a counter radiation that's eroding the anti-matter net."

"Can we compensate with an anti-matter charge, while the cloud is still weak?" cried Kirk.

"Negative, Captain. Sensors indicate that an anti-matter beam would cause the same rebound effect that destroyed the _Silver Arrow_."

"Well, we've got to think of something fast!"

But there was no time to think of anything. The net suddenly collapsed, sending a massive shock wave over the ship. Sparks flew from consoles, smoke billowed from damaged systems, and bridge officers were thrown to the deck.

When the emergency lighting came on, Kirk was horrified to see Spock sprawled across the floor on his stomach. He was unconscious and bleeding profusely.


	10. Chapter 10

Darkness. Confusion. Spock was trapped in a strange, shadowy realm of pain and anxiety. He was both highly alarmed and dreadfully tired – he felt a disconcerting desire to sink into forgetfulness coupled with a frantic worry, a strong desire to take action. He knew that something horrible had happened, but no matter how his mind struggled, how couldn't remember what it was.

Slowly, the darkness in his mind began to fade. He could hear soft voices and the quiet hum of machinery. There was a soothing, mental presence nearby. _I am someplace familiar,_ thought Spock._ Someplace safe._ Gradually, he regained consciousness to find himself lying on a bed in Sickbay's intensive care unit, hooked up to an IV. He felt unimaginably weak, as if lying on a bed doing nothing was almost more than he could handle. Nurse Chapel was by his side.

His initial attempts to ask her what happened emerged as a low moan.

"Mr. Spock," she said softly, leaning towards her patient. "Can you hear me?"

" . . . Yes . . . what happened?"

"Please do not try to move. You've just been through surgery. You were seriously injured when the second shockwave emitted by the spatial anomaly impacted the ship."

Spock suddenly remembered: the hostile cloud, the destruction of the _Silver Arrow_, the failed anti-matter shield.

"The child!" he gasped.

"The baby is fine. Please relax. When you were thrown to the deck, the placenta sustained heavy damage. Dr. McCoy was able to repair the damage before the baby was harmed. You've got minor internal bleeding and some cracked ribs. You've lost a lot of blood, but with plenty of rest you and the baby will both be fine."

Spock spent the next several hours resting and thinking. He felt strangely relieved in a way that he'd never thought possible. Naturally, one would feel satisfaction knowing that the life form one carried was uninjured by an accidental fall; what Spock was experiencing, however, was so much more than mere satisfaction. He realized that although the child was unwanted and unplanned, he'd already come to think of the baby as a part of himself – perhaps the most important part. Faced with nearly losing the child, he now thought of the baby as unimaginably precious. He felt connected to the child in a way he'd never felt connected to anyone before: not his parents, not even Jim.

_This is my child_, he thought. _This is my family, my own flesh and blood. My child needs me . . . and I need my child as well._ He laid his hands on his belly, feeling a terrible wave of sorrow in that his child was almost lost to him. He felt a stinging sense of self-blame that he, his child's sanctuary, had allowed the two of them to be put into danger. This feeling of utter connection, this close relationship, was a strange feeling – when had this occurred? When had he gone from regretting his body's reproductive initiative to deeply treasuring the result? It was as if an unbreakable bond had grown between them. Spock felt as if the life form developing inside of him was a little piece of his soul, without which he was incomplete. Little as he wanted to admit to himself, he loved the child deeply. It was as if the unborn baby radiated a sweet aura of total acceptance, of total completion that filled an empty space within him that he never knew was there. And in return, the baby needed his love as well. It was the most mysterious and beautiful form of symbiosis that he had ever encountered. The two of them needed each other. Before, he had been one alone, one searching for something – now, he had found it.

His eyes suddenly snapped open in revelation. That was it. A partnership, a correlation. Thus far, the Federation had only tried to eliminate or neutralize the weapon. What if instead, they accommodated it? What if they gave it what it was programmed to seek? Spock used the bedside communicator to call the Captain.

He had a new plan to deal with this anomaly.

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

"A _second_ cloud?" exclaimed Kirk. "Spock, are you sure you didn't hit your head during that last attack? Isn't one destructive cloud bad enough?"

"One cloud is not necessarily 'bad,' merely unbalanced," replied the convalescent. "We cannot destroy or stop the cloud, but there is a way to render it harmless. If we create a second cloud that emits the G2 electromagnetic energy the anomaly craves, a cloud that feeds on the counter-radiation emitted by the first cloud, then they will be drawn to one another. There will be no need to target Sol. Earth and her colonies will be safe."

"And where will these two clouds go?"

"They will float off into empty space together – they will still exist, but they will pose no threat to any planet, star, or civilization."

Kirk knit his eyebrows and brought his hand to his chin in his typical gesture of reflection.

"I don't like the idea of potentially multiplying our problem by two, but we're out of options. I'll put together a team straight away. We'll call you if we need your advice, but you're staying here to rest for now. I sure hope this works, Spock."

"I have a 'feeling' that it will," replied the Vulcan calmly.

It was Jim's turn to raise his eyebrows as he left the Sickbay to get to work.


	11. Chapter 11

5 weeks later

The _Enterprise_ was on course to Vulcan following a private commendation ceremony for Mr. Spock held at Starfleet Headquarters. The Service had awarded him the Blue Star Medal, a prestigious award for scientific application in service of the Federation. Thanks to his quick thinking, the Romulan cloud was neutralized. Mr. Spock was scheduled for six months of maternity leave. His due date was less than two weeks away, and Spock anticipated giving birth on his home planet with his family.

"It looks nice," said McCoy, gesturing to the handsome silver medal pinned to Spock's maternity dress uniform. The three friends had just entered the turbo lift to return to their quarters for the evening.

"While aesthetically pleasing, the appearance of the award is not important," replied Spock.

"Typical," grumbled McCoy, rolling his eyes. "I should know by now never to compliment a Vulcan."

"Indeed," replied Mr. Spock. "Which leads me to believe that you derive a strange sense of enjoyment from my constant . . . reproofs . . ." he trailed off, bringing his hands to his large stomach. Concern flashed across his face.

"Doctor, we must visit Sickbay. I believe that I am in labor," he stated calmly. Jim and McCoy looked down at the same time to see a dark stain spreading itself across Spock's pants. There was a green-tinged pool of fluid forming beneath him.

"Whoa!" cried Jim in surprise and mild disgust.

McCoy grabbed the turbolift throttle. "Sickbay!"

Within minutes of arriving, Spock was undressed and installed in a private room. McCoy and Chapel were busying themselves in preparation.

"What do you _mean_ I can't stay?" protested Jim. "Spock's my best friend!"

"Sorry, Jim," said McCoy. "You'll just get in the way. You'll just have to wait outside. Besides, this could take a while. Spock doesn't exactly have what my grand-daddy would've called 'birthing hips.'"

The birth indeed took a while. For Spock, the experience seemed to illogically defy the passage of time; everything happened both very slowly and all at once. There was great pain: pain that ebbed and flowed and came in spurts with each contraction. Although Spock could use the Vulcan mind techniques to somewhat control the pain, he found he had no control over the birth itself. It was as if something greater than he was orchestrating the entire procedure; he was merely the medium.

He had never felt so focused on something in all his life. There seemed to be only one goal in the universe: to deliver the child. He could feel the telepathic reaches of the child's mind. He sensed confusion, fear, and deep curiosity about what was coming next. _It won't be long now, little one_, Spock thought towards the child. _Soon I will hold you in my arms and we will finally meet face to face._

Spock was panting; he was sweating; he was groaning and breathing hard in measured gasps. McCoy's encouragements were distant ("Almost there, Spock! The head's out now. Just a few more pushes; you're doing so well.") The struggle, the labor continued.

And then, the infant emerged, and his baby cried for the first time.

It was a curious sound – no doubt to the others it was just another screaming baby, but to Spock it was so much more. As he listened to that squalling, he felt a strange sensation: great relief, great accomplishment, and intense anticipation. That voice was like the purest of all music.

"It's a girl!" exclaimed the doctor. "She's tiny but healthy. And very pretty too, despite all that ugly hollering."

Spock waited impatiently as the nurse cut the cord and bathed the child. And then he finally held her in his arms.

Spock rarely felt amazement, but he felt it now. It seemed nearly impossible that he had made this little creature. She was so tiny, yet so superior. She was indeed beautiful: big dark eyes, thin wisps of soft brown hair, and delicate little pointed ears. Her skin was soft and green-tinged. She had the smallest fingers and toes that he had ever seen.

"Greetings, little one," he said to the infant. "Welcome. I am your father, and you are my daughter. You shall be called . . . T'lym."

"That's pretty Mr. Spock," commented Christine. "What does it mean?"

"It is an old Vulcan name: the feminine form of the word 'star.' It seemed appropriate."

Christine smiled. "I think it's lovely."

This time, Spock was too distracted to comment that beauty was irrelevant.

"Well, Spock," said the doctor, grinning. "What do you think?"

"I am deeply satisfied," replied the Vulcan. "More than I believed was possible. I am pleased that she is healthy, and that the delivery proceeded well. I look forward to nurturing her, to becoming acquainted with this . . . new member of my family."

McCoy smiled. "I thought you might." And then he left father and daughter alone for a few minutes. As the pair observed one another, Spock felt their bond strengthen. Although the umbilical cord was cut, it was if she was still somehow attached to him.

Spock knew from then on that he and his daughter would always share a very special connection.


End file.
